


Even Dykes Like Dick's

by viciouswishes



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3088472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viciouswishes/pseuds/viciouswishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Femslash10 ficathon, Meredith wants three things: a shower, fresh clothing, and a burger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Dykes Like Dick's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annaalamode](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=annaalamode).



At the end of a shift, six hours of which Meredith spent with her hands stuck in a man's abdomen, she wants three things: a shower, fresh clothing, and a burger. The kind with the works. Lettuce. Mayo. Pickles. Ketchup. Cheese. Cooked in a bunch of grease.

Meredith's stomach growls as the hot spray of water hits her face. She untangles her long hair from her ponytail and reaches for the shampoo. The surgery was amazing; she'd rode on adrenaline and intensity the whole time. Car crash with a steel pole jabbed into his right side.

"That was awesome."

Cristina. She'd sat in the gallery, watching and learning. But most importantly, cheering Meredith on. Meredith smiles; this is what a resident's life is like. Surgery. Knives cutting. Sewing. She finishes rinsing her hair.

"I know," Meredith responds. "Wash my back?" She holds out a soapy washcloth to Cristina.

Normally, Cristina has a witty comeback waiting for that one, but instead she just rolls her eyes. After all, they’re alone. No interns worried over how they still couldn't properly put an IV in patient or how many enemas Bailey made them give that day.

Alone is a lovely feeling as Cristina's slim hand guides the cloth over Meredith's back. Over the trapezius and the rhomboideus major. Picking up her hand to move it across from the latissimus dorsi to the iliac crest over to the sacrospinalis.

Meredith could write a book about the beauty of a woman's sacrospinalis. The gentle curve of the spine and the way the smooth skin lead right down to full hips. So absorbed in her own thoughts about returning the back washing favor, Meredith almost didn't notice when Cristina's hand move to her front and turn her around.

Cristina pushes Meredith to be a better surgeon. To steal cadavers. To spend hours with the machines the Chief bought to save Seattle Grace's reputation as a teaching hospital. It is with that same shove for perfection that Cristina kisses Meredith. Cristina's lips experts in sensuality, the way her stitches on a heart are methodical. Meredith's own lips race to keep up.

But Meredith is like her mother, trying something new and groundbreaking. She bites down on Cristina's bottom lip at the same time she starts to finger fuck her. Her movements are quick. Cristina gasps. Her eyes open wide, staring back at Meredith. Letting Meredith know that this is, like everything else in their lives, a competition. And Meredith, well, she's only won for now.

Cristina leans back against the tiles as Meredith's thumb flickers over her clit. Meredith listens to each inhale Cristina makes. Feels her body temperature rise, even more than from the shower's pounding hot water.

Meredith trails kisses down Cristina’s collarbones. From the ridge of the clavicle down into the valley of Cristina’s scapula. She feels Cristina's cunt tighten.

This is Meredith's favorite part. The part that's better than putting the final stitch on a patient or telling the family that they made it. The part that's better than curling up in a hidden corner of the hospital's library with a heavy old anatomy book. This is the part where Cristina groans and Meredith watches as every muscle in Cristina's face relaxes, from the auriculares muscles around her ears to the mentalis below her bottom lip. Cristina coming.

"You're bad," Cristina says. Her eyes stay closed for just one moment.

Meredith grabs the washcloth from Cristina's hand and runs it across her girlfriend's breasts. "Bad in a good way."

"Bad in a very good way." Cristina opens her eyes and pushes herself away from the wall. "But we better hurry before the interns flood in here with their vomit-crusted scrubs."

"Always the romantic," Meredith says as she finishes washing her body. She's horny now. Meredith wants to throw on whatever makes her presentable in public and drive immediately home to fuck Cristina properly in her own bed. Or heck, give her an on-call room and she'll figure out a way to lock the door.

Once they're done and dressing, Meredith admires Cristina's ass as Cristina pulls on a pair of jeans. She, for one, is not complaining about the revival of the skinny jean. Or so that's what the Vogue she may or may not have read while hiding in dermatology said. Meredith tends to wear scrubs and sneakers no matter if hemlines have gone up or down.

"You still hungry?" Cristina asks. She pulls a black t-shirt over her head.

"I don't remember saying I was. But I am." Sometimes Meredith feels like Cristina can read her mind. It's creepy.

"You always want something greasy after a long surgery." Oh. Perhaps it's just a pattern. Cristina tends to recognize patterns in those she studies, and Meredith knows she's a subject of Cristina's attention.

Meredith pulls her hair back into a ponytail. "Dick's? I think I could eat two whole Deluxes and a shake." Her tummy grumbles at the thought of the loosely-made burgers with melted cheese as she slips on her shoes.

"Think we could convince Victor to fly in animal-style Double-Doubles?" Cristina reaches down to zip up her boots.

"I think that would be a gross misuse of emergency helicopter time."

"That's true. There could be an avalanche and think of the surgeries we'd miss if all the people died before the 'copter got them here." Cristina pauses for a second as if she's truly considering sacrificing someone for a burger. "But it might be worth it. If he brought Neapolitan shakes with him."

"You're truly a horrible person," Meredith says. She doesn't really think this. She's just a little antsy. She's hungry and horny. And then she's going to sleep, a lot. "Besides, Dick's is just as good, if not better than In-N-Out."

"Spoken like a true non-Californian."

"Dick's is a Seattle institution. Outsiders just don't get it." Meredith grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder. "Are we going to walk?"

"After that long of a shift? I don't think so." Cristina flashes the keys to her motorcycle. "Besides, I'm not in the mood to push tourists gawking at the Space Needle out of my way."

"I thought you weren't from around here either?" Meredith teases her.

"Oh, shut up."

They practical run to the elevator. Standing there, waiting impatiently for the doors to open, with glee in their eyes. The elevator offloads with interns, tried, cranky, and hungry too. The one Cristina refers to as 'bushy eyebrow boy' scowls at Meredith and Cristina. But Meredith doesn't care.

"Come on, come on," Cristina says as she punches the 'close door' button.

The moment the door meet each other, Meredith grabs Cristina in that strange desperate way that the elevators in Seattle Grace affect everyone. Meredith thinks she remembers getting her first kiss here. A boy, probably 10-years-old with a broken leg, hobbling into the elevator. Her, a girl of 9, gripping a box of pastels and a drawing pad. She'd wanted to be an artist that year.

The bell dings when they reach the ground floor. Cristina pulls back. "Where were you?" she asks.

"In this elevator," Meredith answers as she steps through the doors and makes a beeline to the hospital's exit.

As Meredith puts on Cristina's extra helmet in the parking lot, she considers telling Cristina the story about the boy in the elevator. But Cristina's already started her bike, and they're both too hungry for any more parking lot lingering. She hops on the bike behind Cristina and holds on.

Truth be told, Meredith hates riding on the back of Cristina's bike. Even when they're only going 30, Meredith feels like they might as well be speed racing in the Nevada desert. Or at least, that's where Meredith thinks speed racing happens. Probably from some movie she watched.

Instead of fearing for her life, Meredith focuses on her soon-to-be-filled stomach. She doesn't even remember the first time she ate at Dick's. Her mother was never a cook, and the Queen Anne location opened a year after Meredith was born. There was a lot of fast food. Especially after Thatcher left them. Dick’s was planted right between Seattle Grace and home. It still stood there as a testament to the '70s. The same brown brick building with the parking lot full of cars.

As they cruise down 5th Avenue, Meredith leans forward and shouts, "Why did you go this way?"

"Google Maps said it was shorter."

"You Google Mapped Dick's?" Meredith's in disbelief. The first thing Seattle Grace employees learn, after the layout of the hospital, is the way to Dick's. Sometimes, hospital food just gets old.

"Efficiency," Cristina claims.

Cristina makes a left onto Roy. Meredith tries not to think about the dozen or more restaurants and bars they're passing up. The local grocery store that Izzie swears is the only place to buy baking chocolate. Instead she thinks about the record store that takes Meredith back to the days of a being the angry teen with pink hair in skinny black jeans listening to her Joy Division albums. She wonders if she digs far enough will she find a boom-box buried in her attic with Substance on tape?

They park right near the doors. Even at 12:30 at night, there’s a long line crammed inside Dick’s. Drunks, club kids, night creatures, and others who work swing shifts waited more or less patiently under the assault of greasy smells. Meredith's grumbly stomach isn't but a bleep as everyone chatters and the workers shout at each other. This is their middle-of-the-night oasis when the rest of the city's gone to bed too early on a weeknight. Cristina's arm's slung around her waist.

But it's all worth it after the 12-hour shift. All worth it for a bag full of overly salty, limp french fries. All for the moment when Meredith bites down on a hot, foil-wrapped burger. Someday, she's going to make Cristina admit that this is their Seattle experience: a Dick’s Deluxe after a 12-hour shift.


End file.
